Lost in the Labyrinth by Patrice Kindl (ereader with android txt) 📗

and therefore Ariadne’s first appearance in her place. She and I had rehearsed and rehearsed her entrance, yet even knowing what to expect I gave a cry of pleasure at the picture she made. From all around me came a roar of delight.

She was masked and gowned to represent the Goddess and mounted on a chariot drawn by a pair of cheetahs. The chariot was so fashioned that golden wings appeared to be sprouting from the back of each of the big cats. The effect was to make them look like the griffins that attend the Goddess and draw her conveyances.

The cheetahs were uneasy. I watched anxiously fearing that they would bolt. Cheetahs can run fast, faster than any horse. They did not flee but sat down and clawed at the straps binding them to the chariot. I bit my lip and longed to take charge of the chariot myself.

Ariadne, however, had everything under control. She bowed to her mother and to the giant sacral horns at one end of the Bull Court, which represented the Bull in the Earth. Then she turned her attention to the cheetahs. She was firm, wielding her little gilded whip to good effect on their backsides. The procession advanced.

Behind Ariadne and the cheetahs came Lycia of the Queen’s Menagerie, keeping a sharp eye on the cheetahs. Then came my brother Asterius, attended by his servants. The gaily colored ribbons tied round his arms and waist and tail were stained with sweat. The crowd cheered loudly on seeing him, and his eyeballs rolled wildly in their sockets. Nervous, he pranced sideways, butting into his attendants. I looked away, not wishing to witness his suffering.

After him came a group of priestesses wearing over their heads and shoulders masks of many animals: a vulture, a fish, a cow. Behind them were the bull riders and bull dancers, liberally decked with flowers, and finally, the tumblers, jugglers, and clowns who would entertain between events. These last did not walk but rather cartwheeled and somersaulted their way around the bull ring, their trained monkeys, pigs, and dogs cavorting merrily among them.

Queta, who had been clucking with alarm over the cheetahs, now uttered a loud Hoo! Hoo! on seeing bosom friends and hated enemies from the menagerie in the throng at the tail of the procession. I slipped a cherry into her mouth and she hushed.

When the parade had completed a full circuit of the arena, Ariadne reined in her cheetahs, who promptly lay down and showed signs of wanting to roll in the dust. Ariadne dismounted, and Lycia came forward and led the cheetahs and chariot away, followed by the rest of the participants. I sighed with relief.

Two of the priestesses entered the ring and approached Ariadne, carrying the sacred serpents.

At that moment my mother stood up.

“My people,” she said aloud.

As if she had twitched a magic thread, three thousand heads turned to look at her. The audience hastily surged to its feet.

“My people,” she said, “it is many years since I have danced the Dance of the Serpents. I will do so again today.”

A startled silence ensued, then whispers washed back and forth across the whole expanse of the courtyard like waves in a pond. There came a cry, “Hail, O Blessed Queen!” The crowd took it up and shouted in unison, smiting their foreheads with the knuckles of their right hands in salute.

The queen bent down and kissed Glaucus before descending to the arena. “My son,” she murmured, and caressed his cheek.

I understood. She wished to perform the dance to give thanks to the Goddess and to the serpent who had saved her son. But would Ariadne understand? Or would she take it as an insult?

Glaucus flung himself into a seat behind me and began steadily kicking at the legs of my chair. I closed my eyes and tried to feel gratitude for his preservation. When I opened them again I saw Ariadne standing motionless, her face as wooden as the mask she held in her hands.

The priestesses made humble obeisance to their queen. The two carrying the basket with the snakes began to move away from Ariadne and toward our mother, but Ariadne put out her hand to stay them. The crowd fell silent, sensing drama.

Oh, Ariadne, do not do so, I murmured to myself.

After a long dragging moment, while my mother and sister stared at each other, Ariadne withdrew her hand. We sat motionless, watching. Slowly she bowed to the queen, handed her the mask, and then turned abruptly and walked out of the arena. The priestesses gently twined the snakes about my mother’s arms and waist and throat and then, taking up their torches, positioned themselves for the dance.

For me, the Dance of the Serpents passed in a haze; I was waiting for Ariadne. As time went by and she did not appear, I became frightened. She must be seen as a dutiful daughter or our mother would be forced to take action against her.

I had determined to go and look for her when suddenly she appeared. To my surprise, she did not look angry but, rather, bemused, as if something unexpected and pleasing had occurred. Her breasts, so much rounder and more womanly than mine, rose and fell rapidly with the stirring of some emotion. Her eyes glittered and her whole body was tense with excitement.

As my mother and the priestesses prepared to leave the court to the bull dancers, someone darted out from the crowd and intercepted them. He bowed deeply and spoke to her. It was Daedalus, Icarus’s father.

My mother stiffened. She stood motionless, listening to Daedalus. She seemed to protest, then nodded curtly and strode out of the arena. When she sat down again with the family, I saw that she was now furious. Two little spots of color had appeared high on her cheekbones.

I looked at Ariadne and then back again at my mother, but the moment of disobedience seemed forgotten by both mother and daughter. Apparently they both